


Blink

by Maedlin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: But seriously Alt-Loki's been through a lot, Dimension Travel, Especially with two versions of most characters in this story, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Odin's A+ Parenting, Parallel Universes, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Recovery, Tags Are Hard, There will be no explicit depictions of assault, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unreliable Narrator, and it shows, or torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-16 15:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maedlin/pseuds/Maedlin
Summary: (And it's gone.)Inspired by an old prompt on Norsekink, wherein a Loki from a seriously dark version of MCU swaps places with the canon Jotun disaster we know and love.





	1. 1.1: Emergency Measures

Four years. For four years, he’d painstakingly siphoned the tiny sliver of his magic that existed before the collar completely nullified it into this one spell. It’d long since passed the point that he could even properly remember why he was doing it, only that he must.

This past year had been especially difficult. His Masters has moved past physical torture; he was trained well enough at this point that even the occasional reminders they gave him were done merely because they could, rather than because he needed correcting.

(Except clearly he did, because he still held this one secret, a spell undetectable and out-of-phase with reality, one even he could not remember the purpose of.)

Still, in light of the lack of physical violence, his body had… recovered, somewhat. Still battered and bruised, but now more than just faintly tethered to life by the strings of his own still-existent will to live and his Masters’ spite.

It was four days ago that he’d discovered another consequence of this change in method.

It wasn’t surprising, perhaps, that he hadn’t noticed sooner. Months of vague, indefinable sickness indistinguishable from the constant ache of not-well he felt at all times. The infinitesimal weight gain, where he’d gone from emaciated to merely starved, attributed to the way his body no longer have to constantly attempt to heal a plethora of grievous wounds.

(Electric currents left far less visible marks on his body.)

He’d always known before. With Sleipnir, the spark of life had been immediate; a curse and the crushing realization that to change form would be to kill the being growing inside of him.

(Had he known his child’s fate, perhaps he would have changed regardless.)

With the others, for all that he had not borne them, he had known the moment their spark first flickered.

(He’d known enough, with each successive disaster, that after Vali and Narvi, he’d ensured he’d never again be able to sire a child.)

(He hadn’t accounted for the possibility of a functional womb when his unconscious shapeshifting was replaced with an external curse, one far less complete than his own.)

There were only two possible outcomes, now; a premature death or a fate akin to that of its siblings.

The former would likely be more merciful, but he didn’t--couldn’t--guarantee his own success, and a failure would likely lead to his Masters discovering the issue and taking the matter out of his hands.

(It would be the seventh, and he wouldn’t survive the loss, this time at his own hands.)

Four days, and for all that the searing knowledge in his head told him not-enough, that the premature activation could have unforeseen consequences…

(But then, all consequences were unforeseen, weren’t they?)

So, when shaking hands faltered for just a moment, when glass shattered and he was smashed face-first into the shards, he’d reacted instinctively.

The speck of seidr, cast out with a sharp twist of intent and desperation and hope, ignited the carefully-tended ball of magic, and Loki flickered out of existence.

A blink against eternity, and he came into being once more.

His surroundings were entirely different, for all that he could not presently take them in, but his eyes settled on the man before him, registering the face that went blank with shock and recognition before it began to darken in an all-too-familiar way.

He’d failed.

White noise filled his ears. His vision greyed, dotted with black spots. A sharp, flaring pain spiked in his head, the consequences of a high-level spell that’d attempted to drain energy that simply wasn’t there.

The most creatively cruel of his Masters loomed over him, and Loki welcomed the fall into oblivion that offered him a temporary reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written to channel for some of the stress I've been under lately, and is far more unpolished than anything I would normally publish or write.
> 
> As such, I can make no guarantees as to the frequency, length, or quality of updates. Sorry.
> 
> That said, I always love feedback, whatever form it takes.


	2. 1.2: Ninety-nine Problems (Plus One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's very rare that DUM-E accidentally slipping a hallucinogen into his drink is Tony's preferred-case scenario. But then, Tony's not entirely clear on the alternative yet. He just knows he's really not in the mood for yet another problem to literally appear out of nowhere.

Obadiah Stane had once been Tony’s father in all but blood. After Afghanistan, he’d been so certain that nothing would ever be able to match the sheer hurt and betrayal his actions had caused.

Then Ultron, the so-called Civil War, and Siberia, and now…

Which was worse?

Your father figure, or the man you’d been raised to see as the paragon of Truth, Justice, and All That Is Good, literally ripping your heart out of your chest?

(Steve hadn’t known about the surgery; too busy gallivanting across the world on Tony’s dime to be let into the small group that knew.)

It’d been six weeks since that particular cluster-fuck. Two days in the hospital before he’d been able to successfully play the “I’m Tony Fucking Stark” card and get himself discharged. The next six weeks gone in a blur from dealing with the immediate aftermath alone. He'd found himself stretched in an even more impossible amount of directions than usual; the media alone was so far past circus he didn’t even know how to describe it.

(Had the aftermath of New York been this bad?)

(No. No it had not. Tony should know, since it was his fucking PR team who’d handled the Avengers' images then, too.)

Keep the press from crucifying Rogers and his merry band of “rogue Avengers.” Trying to balance them where they were currently precariously perched on the edge of “rogue” and keep them from falling irretrievably down into “terrorist.”

Bury Ross-- may he rot in prison-- in the grave he’d dug for himself.

Continue ongoing discussions and negotiations on the Sokovian Accords with the United Nations.

Figure out what was going to happen with the “Avengers Initiative” now that he, the consultant, was somehow the last man standing.

(Rhodey’s physical therapy. Designing new bracers. Prosthesis. Revolutionize the medical field with the million ideas whirling around in a brain that never stopped, rarely slowed…)

(Vision, his pseudo-son/grandson/nephew who’d been literally cast aside from what Tony suspected had been his first crush. Who still brought painful pangs of memory and guilt with every interaction, a wound that was of Tony’s own design…)

(Peter, the fifteen-year-old kid he’d dragged onto a battlefield, could have gotten killed, who for some reason seemed to think that Tony was an appropriate role model...)

Tony swirled his scotch, lost in his thoughts even as he remained focused on stress-testing the latest patch to FRIDAY’s security protocols.

(She was still so young, forced into the shoes of an AI who’d had decades of growth and development that she couldn't afford to take. Thrust into the shark-infested deep end when at her age, JARVIS had only just been set loose on the comparatively-nebulous internet, sending out tentative queries and carefully, cautiously, gradually, connecting to more and more of the wider network as his confidence solidified and his security routines grew more robust…)

The was no dramatic flash, no echoing noise or rattling objects.

Just a rush of displaced air raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Just the sound of sharp, ragged breathing where before there’d be nothing but the soft whirring of machinery.

Tony was already on his feet, scotch set aside and turning around, as FRIDAY began to alert him to the--

To the figure, half-huddled and half-sprawled on the floor in front of him where once there’d been naught but the grey concrete of his workshop floor. Scraggly black hair hid their features before trembling limbs pushed the figure up just enough to reveal the young, blood-flecked face of the man underneath.

It wasn’t until a pair of all-too-familiar blue-green eyes momentarily locked with his own that he made the connection.

He wasn’t surprised by the recognition that likely mirrored his own, but the unmasked mix of horror, fear, and resignation that accompanied it?

That was new.

(Wasn’t Loki supposed to be dead? Hero’s death saving Thor or something. No surprise it’d been a trick, the man’s mind was a bagful of cats.)

(Even as he thought it, his mind was automatically cataloguing and taking in a million small details and drawing conclusions, FRIDAY undoubtedly doing the same with her scanners.)

Maybe-Loki went utterly still for a moment, the picture of a deer in the headlights.

It seemed he’d used the last remaining bit of his own energy in taking in the presumably-abrupt transition into Tony’s workshop. He collapsed once more like a puppet with its strings cut, unconscious.

“FRIDAY…” Tony began.

“Yes, Boss?”

“...Did a Norse God just crash into my lab, or did DUM-E slip something into my drink again?”

“I’m unable to provide more than an 60% identity match verification with present data, but… currently available evidence suggests the former, Boss.”

“Fuck.”

Then, a moment later:

“...I think we’re going to need to call in some backup on this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's surprisingly nice to post on a scene-by-scene basis without any self-imposed constraints on word count and plot advancement...
> 
> A bit more about the current state of the world Loki's found himself in; I'm not sure how subtle I was about addressing some of the more popular bits of fanon that I either appropriated or discarded for this story, but I'm such a sucker for world-building it was inevitable it'd come up sooner rather than later.


	3. 1.3: Something Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Strange exceeds the dialogue quota by a significant margin, and Tony wishes he'd shot a bit more whiskey earlier.

An hour and a half later saw Tony in the small medical room of his tower, carefully removing shards of glass embedded in skin with a pair of tweezers. 

 

“Well,” Dr. Strange began. He’d been silent for the past twenty minutes, settling in to an in-depth examination of his newest patient.

 

(He’d been  _ thrilled _ to have Tony calling him at three in the morning, especially when the duo had only met three days prior.)

 

(Then he laid eyes on the reason for the call.)

 

(His initial, cursory examination had settled his mouth into a grim line. Occasionally, the frown deepened into a small scowl before he scribbled down some new note. Aside from intermittent, terse directions for Tony, he’d be mostly silent, slipping fully into medical-professional mode.)

 

“He’s surprisingly intact physically compared to what his appearance might suggest. There’s a few bones that look like they’ve healed incorrectly, but that’ll need a specialist and a few more medical scans to verify first and it’s not immediately life-threatening... I’m a bit worried about a possible infection on his neck, but that's not easily accessible. He definitely needs more water and nutrients-- that can be sent in through the IV, which will help some.

 

“He’s got a fairly serious concussion, so we’re going to have to see about rousing him back into consciousness in the near future.

 

“I don’t know who made the… collar… he’s wearing, or why, but the bits I’ve managed to unravel so far are ridiculously complex and seemed to be tied into the technology of the device, which unfortunately will not be so easily examined.

 

“It appears to be actively draining his magic as his body regenerates it, which is both incredibly disturbing and likely very painful. I can’t immediately see any valid use case for this compared to the more standard methods of magic suppression I'm familiar with. I’m more concerned about this than anything at the moment; by all appearances the complete lack of magic would be immediately fatal, and this has him constantly skirting the border of a near-death state.

 

“There’s also something…  _ off _ … about his magical presence that I can’t immediately quantify. I never had the pleasure of meeting Loki before to form a basis of comparison, but I can confirm he’s likely been a magic practitioner since before Europeans even discovered this continent.

 

“If I had to guess, he cast some sort of spell that brought him here and sent him into a coma when he didn’t give it enough power. A magical brownout, if you will.

 

“I’ll have to go gather a more complete set of tools and reference materials before I can start doing a more in-depth analysis on the collar. I’d strongly advised you not to mess with it, since that’s likely to do nothing more than trigger an unpleasant reaction.”

 

Tony had to set down the tweezers. 

 

(His hand was shaking badly enough to warrant a break from operations requiring a delicate touch.)

 

“There are a few tests that I want to run sooner than later, but again I’m leery of doing too much until I have a better understanding of the effects of the collar. I especially got some odd readings near his lower abdomen…”

 

“For now I’m not recommending anything more than basic first aid and cleaning like you've been doing. It’ll take me some time to track down everything I need. Now, I’m going to go take a shower, and brew us both some coffee, and then I’ll be back to wake him up and go over everything in more detail. I’m not sure how he’ll react, but I doubt it’ll be good… you’ll need to keep checking on him every few hours once I’m gone; he should respond to conventional means since nothing I’ll be giving him in the meantime should have any tranquilizing effects.

 

“Any questions? Are you okay with me leaving you alone with him for a bit?”

 

Tony, for his part, tried for a smile that came out more as a grimace and quipped, “Nah, I'm good. 'Sides, I’m never alone, right FRI?”

 

“Right Boss!” Her mechanical voice chirped from the ceiling.

 

“You can use my showers; she’ll help direct you to where everything is. This place can be a bit of a labyrinth.”

 

“Of course, thank you,” Dr. Strange acquiesced with a slight nod, turning to leave after a moment’s pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Hmm, wonder what could be causing those odd readings...
> 
> Coming up next: Meet and Greet with the oh-so-mysterious stranger, or perhaps checking in with his dimensionally displaced counterpart?


	4. 1.4: Ouroboros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the recent past the of the Loki that arrived, and the Brave New World the Loki that left faces.

It began with what should have been an ending. Two words--

 

(“No, Loki.”)

 

\--a heap of self-loathing, and simply… letting go.

 

Were but that the end of it.

 

How long spent in an unending fall? Utter nothingness, complete sensory deprivation. Hard to comprehend until you experience it. Nothing. No sight, sound, smell… even proprioception, lost after an eternity of falling.

 

(Sound does not travel in a vacuum.)

 

(Loki still cried out.)

 

Then, eventually, something caught him.

 

(He’d been falling for ninety-five hours.)

 

And what should have been an ending--

 

Loki was half-mad when he was ‘rescued.’ After a few months under their tender mercies, he was completely mad.

 

(He’d agreed to do their bidding after two weeks. Another eternity felt, he broke when he’d finally accepted there would be no rescue.)

 

(Who would save a monster?)

 

Loki was the God of Chaos and Lies. How could they be certain that he would comply, fulfill his end of the bargain?

 

(Break a mind to pieces, take the shards and splinters and build a mosaic to your liking.)

 

A bargain was struck.

 

Midgard for the Tesseract.

 

(He’d been King once, for all that he’d never wanted the throne. Sworn to protect the Nine Realms, Midgard among them. He couldn’t save the universe, but he could save this.)

 

An invasion initiated. Still half mad, he’d stumbled through the portal and he learned it’d been but a year.

 

(Time passes differently in the mind of the tormented.)

 

How do you conquer a Realm as fragmented as Midgard?

 

Shock them into compliance. One massive display of overwhelming force, destroy a jewel of the Realm and force a surrender. A few million lost but a long campaign with a more exacting death toll spared.

 

There’d have been resistance at first, of course. But he’d been raised a future ruler--

 

(Though not of Asgard, he now knew. Never Asgard.)

 

\--for longer than any of their nations had been around, and he’d had plans and dreams when he was young. A utopian society that appreciated scholars and sorcerers over warriors and soldiers…

 

(Eliminate war and warriors only exist for sport.)

 

(Loki would never again be the odd man out.)

 

Childish fancies, but centuries later still providing the blueprint for a society that would be an oasis in a universe made empty, a sparkling diamond whose luster would outshine Asgard. Thanks to him.

 

(Had he ever really believed the fantasy?)

 

In another world, his efforts at world domination would have been half-sincere at best. In another world, he’d have cared little for the fate of Midgard. When he’d forsaken and been forsaken by the throne of Asgard, he’d washed his hands of any real sense of responsibility.

 

(Here, there was Jormungandr. Here, he’d been sneaking away as frequently as he could reasonably manage to visit his son. The World Serpent, his name become synonymous with “huge monster”, cursed to a lifetime spent biting his own tail, frozen in time in body if not spirit.)

 

(Here, his infrequent visits had led him to keep abreast of Midgardian society, and his tactics had been all the more refined for it when the time came to invade.)

 

(Here, the death toll was all the greater.)

 

(Here, there were two especially important additional casualties that were far away and safe in another world.)

 

All the same, he’d been defeated in the end.

 

(The All-Father’s justice had never favored Loki, and at least now he knew why.)

 

One week, for every Midgardian life lost.

 

(Could anyone even survive that long?)

 

Stark, the closest thing to a King Midgard possessed in the eyes of the All-Father.

 

Thor, the Crown Prince of Asgard, soon to be King of Asgard and All-Father of the Nine Realms.

 

Rogers, the Crown Prince of Midgard.

 

Banner, Romanoff, Barton, Fury. Enforcers and advisors. The Midgardian Counsel.

 

(Titles decreed by the All-Father irrevocable without his consent.)

 

Hearts twisted by rage and grief. Circle the drain, a slippery slope.

 

(If the scepter encouraged every weakness, exploited every despair-driven desire, gradually poked and prodded and persuaded... Who would notice? For it was Loki, and he had killed two percent of New York City’s millions of inhabitants, and he deserved it.)

 

Mental patterns, once shaped, are nigh-impossible to break.

 

And all the while, the drip... drip... drip... of Loki's magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to the Anon who inspired me to write this scene with their kind words. For those that weren't a fan of the dialogue-heavy scene, I still appreciate your honest feedback!
> 
> Hopefully this scene wasn't too disjoint to follow! I don't normally do non-linear narratives, so this chapter is a bit of an experiment in that regard.


	5. 1.5: Reawakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki awakens, freaks out, and Tony uses his powers of endless speech for good.

Loki awoke to the sound of voices. He couldn’t quite pick apart the sounds into coherent words, though he could imagine that whatever they were saying was nothing good.

 

He hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to react when the choice was taken away from him. The briefest touch of foreign seidr brushed against him.

 

(Against the chasm where his own strength ought to have been.)

 

The intense burst of longing-want-hope-fear-despair jolted through him. He remembered his own rash actions. Remembered the surge of power. Remembered the devastating realization that, whatever his plan had been, he’d failed. He was still in the company of his Masters. They were unlikely to be pleased with his recent behaviors.

 

(He could still feel his unborn child, and he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.)

 

He sucked in a breath that came out a barely audible gasp. His eyes flew open, muscles tensing. A loud, increasingly rapid beeping noise filled his ears. Reality sharpened around him and Loki took in his surroundings.

 

A bed. Not restrained, though heavy limbs suggested they may have been rendered unnecessary through the use of alternative methods. There was a needle sunk into his left arm, connecting to a tube that snaked its way up into a bag of an unknown, clear substance. Further evidence for his initial conclusion

 

( _Get it out get it out get it out GET IT OUT._ )

 

(His right hand barely twitched before common sense aborted what would have been a futile act.)

 

Above him loomed Master Stark and a second, unrecognizable figure.

 

Insane or no, he was still Loki. His mind was clear enough to assemble the puzzle pieces.

 

( _“One misstep too far and we’ll figure out just how resilient your anatomy really is. Banner’s always been more into the squishy sciences, you guys can have a reunion while JARVIS and I supervise.”_ )

 

He could still feel his child.

 

( _T_ _he fetus._ )

 

(Dissociate, minimize the heartbreak.)

 

( _Can’t manage that I feel their heartbeat I have no soul but they might please I don’t want to lose them please Master have mercy they’re innocent please they don’t deserve to be condemned to this same half-life please at least don’t make them suffer rip me to pieces anything you desire please just have mercy on them five months at most until birth please just this one boon I don’t deserve but they’re as much human as monster give them a chance please I will beg I will grovel you can have me fully in spirit as much as body anything everything I have nothing will deserve nothing am nothing have killed so many innocents for I am a monster and unlike me, you are Good and they are one of you as much as mine tainted perhaps but they carry your blood as well I’m merely a vessel for their growth I’ll disavow all connection just a chance give them a chance to prove themselves away from my poisonous influence please Master don’t do this._ )

 

(Mercy is not meant for the monster.)

 

Loki was dragged out of his spiralling thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He recoiled but it was enough to push him back into reality.

 

He was hyperventilating, breath coming in shuddering gasps, sobs unwillingly wrenched from him with each stuttering exhale.

 

( _Calm down calm down calm down this is not helping you at all you’re just going to make him angrier stop it stop crying stop stop stop stop stop relax be rational silvertongue your words are all you have but you must be able to calm yourself to use them relax relax relax stop being so foolish_ )

 

Gradually, he was able to focus on a steady voice, the soothing tone so utterly different that it began to draw him in where he’d normally shrink away.

 

“--you’re safe, FRIDAY won’t let anyone else in here and neither Stephen nor I will hurt you. There is nothing to be afraid of. Deep breaths. Can you breathe in for me?

 

“Good. Okay, you’re doing great, you will get through this. Breathe out. Focus on my voice. Breathe in. Two. Three. Four.

 

“Breathe out. Two, three, four.

 

“Breathe in. You’re doing just fine. Breathe out. There you go. Try to focus on that; just keep breathing with me.

 

“It’s okay to cry, no one here thinks any less of you. You’re not going to make us angry. No one here is going to hurt you and there is nothing to be afraid of. There you go. Are you with me now?

 

“Nodding; that’s good, excellent really. Do you want to try uncurling a bit, stretching out some? That can’t be comfortable, though I’m not one to judge. Honestly, you should see some of the positions Pepper’s walked in on me in, JAR-- FRIDAY could probably access the footage. There was this one time, this was back when I still lived in Malibu, and I had brought this woman home and well, for whatever reason I woke up like thirty minutes later and decided it was a good idea to go work in my lab--

 

“Right, let’s skip that. Labs, who needs labs anyways? Unless you're talking the dogs. People like those, although I'm not one of them so that just proves my point, doesn't it? Deep breath. In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four. You’re doing well; keep breathing with me, there you go. That’s much more comfortable than the roly-poly imitation, isn’t in?”

 

“Do you think you can try sitting up? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I’m right here; I’m not going to touch you or do anything to you without your permission, and Dr. Strange over there took the Hippocratic Oath. Their whole thing is like, ‘First, do no harm’ or something like that so there’s nothing to be afraid of on that front either. FRIDAY’s a doll, she wouldn’t hurt a fly--

 

“Sorry FRIDAY, you are a fierce and ferocious  future Robot Overlord. You know, I don’t remember programming you with that kind of sass. Honestly I shouldn’t have given you to Pepper in your formative years she’s clearly ruined you--

 

“My mistake, dear. You’re right, that was ridiculous of me, what in the world was I thinking-- don’t take that tone with me!

 

“--Okay, fine, take that tone with me then. Stephen, why are you smiling? This is clearly a mutiny! It’s a small step from sarcasm to SkyNet; flip a couple bits and there goes humanity. DUM-E’s been trying to kill me for years, you know. If he’s managed to turn FRI as well and she stops warning me when he poisons a smoothie I’m doomed. I'll be dead inside a week.

 

“--Well, obviously you’d be way more effective than SkyNet, and yes you could definitely kill me yourself, but c’mon you’re telling me you’re not going to have a fall guy take the blame and leave you in the clear so no one sees your nefarious plotting coming until you’ve already won and installed Pepper as your puppet-empress? I mean _I’m_ the one that created you so it’d be insulting if anyone doubted your potential--

 

“Ah, see. There you go, buddy. Sitting up wasn't so bad, huh? Keep breathing with me; you’re doing fantastic.

 

“...I’m guessing you’re looking for FRI? She doesn’t actually have a physical body. Well I mean unless you count her servers but those aren’t here so… She’s an artificial intelligence… oh, you know what that is? Should have figured; honestly I think Point Break just pretends to be ignorant sometimes to annoy me, I mean he’s been hanging around with us off and on for years now--

 

“Excellent. What did I tell you? I know it was difficult, but it’s getting better now. You’re in a medical ward with us and you’re safe. You’re safe. There is nothing here to be afraid of. Nothing and no one that will hurt you.

 

"I know you’re probably in a lot of pain right now; do you think you could try answering a couple questions for us? Stephen’s a doctor, he’s here to help. Remember the Hippocratic Oath I mentioned? Well, we don’t want to do anything to accidentally cause you pain while we take care of some of those injuries. Anything you can tell us that will make that easier…”

 

Loki wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d awoken, but he was calm enough now that he’d managed to fully suppress the tears. His breathing had calmed to a less dangerous rhythm.

 

( _What games are my Masters playing now?_ )

 

(He ruthlessly crushed the spark of hope that his unspoken pleas had been answered. That they’d decided to spare his child.)

 

(Hope is a dangerous emotion.)

 

He managed mostly keep the tremble out of his voice when he responded.

 

“Any answers you wish of me are yours, Master Stark.”

 

(Loki’s eyes were downcast. Subservient. Focused anywhere but Master Stark’s face where they might be taken as a challenge, and so he missed the man’s reaction. Missed the way Tony drew back as if struck.)

 

(This was likely for the best, for it would have sent Loki straight back down into the panic that was still skirting on the peripheries.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I've only ever had one severe, full-blown panic attack in my life. I tried to model Loki's experience in the latter half of the chapter on that. There's a fine line between empathy and pity, and I hope I've managed to depict this in a way that kept ya'll firmly off the side of pity.
> 
> There is no magical, perfect way to handle a panic attack, but everything Tony does in this chapter is modeled on the recommended ways of helping a person experiencing one. 
> 
> (Help them breathe. Convince them there's nothing to be afraid of, and what they're experiencing right now will not last forever. Stay with them and try to engage them in conversation without forcing them to respond. DO NOT get mad, or tell them to calm down, or brush it off, or try to force their attention onto some distracting bullshit because none of that works. Ideally, remind them that they are NOT trapped where they are. If they want to leave they can, but DO NOT be the one to leave them, even if they tell you to leave.)
> 
> (...I guess that's my PSA for the day.)
> 
> What I consider the first "chapter" is beginning to wind down now. (Scenes numbered for your convenience!) I'm trying to build up the world Loki arrived from without overwhelming amounts of exposition before we (finally) check in with our dimensionally-displaced canonical compatriot.
> 
> Feedback makes my heart happy and gives me inspiration to write more! 
> 
> Until next time! - Mae


	6. 1.6: The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d never felt like more of a monster, for all that this was not an interrogation, and it burned.
> 
> Loki reveals a bit about his circumstances, and Tony loses it (just a bit).

Jarvis had once called him Master Stark. It symbolized the warm affection of a stodgy old British butler to the young child of his employer’s house.

 

This… was not Jarvis.

 

“I take it we know each other then?” The words came out automatically.

 

(Not a real question, but Loki heard a taunt, saw blurry memories of defenestration and his hands on Stark’s throat, and he knew well to play along.)

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

The conversation--

 

( _N_ _ot_ an interrogation. Tony was hyper-aware of every twitch and grimace Loki attempted to suppress, of the way he never looked at Tony’s face for more than a split-second flicker of the eyes, of the way he never made eye contact and constantly hovered on the edge of complete dissociation from his surroundings. He’d never felt like more of a monster, for all that this _was not_ an interrogation, and it _burned_ _._ )

 

The conversation lasted less than ten minutes before Tony couldn’t take it anymore. Loki, on his part, was fading fast, dissociation transitioning to a battle to remain awake against a body that desperately needed rest.

 

He made his excuses, for all that Loki clearly wasn’t in a state to care, and fled the room.

 

He needed-- fuck, he didn’t know what he needed. He paced, wanting to punch something or someone, fists clenching and unclenching.

 

He didn’t hear Stephen leave the room behind him, but noticed him leaning silently against the wall when he turned.

 

“Jesus-- fucking Christ, what the _fuck_ \--”

 

(Genius IQ, and those were the only words that came to mind?)

 

(God. Fucking. Dammit.)

 

“I mean. Seriously. What the _fuck_ was that? Last I checked we were supposed to be the good guys. Did someone summon my evil twin when I wasn’t looking? Did _I_ do something and I just don’t remember it? If someone’s playing mind games trying to fuck with us, they’re doing a fantastic fucking job. God, you said that collar’s a mix of tech and your branch of science… what do you want to bet it’s based on StarkTech? I could probably build something like that, you know. I’m _Tony Fucking Stark_ \--” The epithet came out mocking, derisive.

 

“--Hell, when I was doing research on the scepter I spent most of my time trying to figure out how to nullify the damn thing; it never really worked but then again, I never even tried to test it on a person because I’m not a _fucking psychopath!_

 

“The thing they put on Wanda was bad enough; maybe if they’d just _fucking consulted me_ I could have come up with something a bit less 1984. Or you know, Ross could have listened to me in the first place and it wouldn’t have been necessary! I’m sick and tired of people perverting MY TECH to hurt people!”

 

His voice had steadily risen in volume as his thoughts were drawn to the events of the ‘Civil War’. He cut himself off with a heavy sigh at his last words, rubbing a hand tiredly across his face.

 

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Tony trailed off with a helpless shrug of his shoulders, slumping against the wall.

 

Stephen was silent for a long moment, his expression compassionate.

 

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “I’m going to start doing some research on the collar; there are some tests I should be able to do that will give you something to start with on the electronics side of it. It’ll be awhile, but I’ll be able to take over for you on keeping an eye on him while I’m doing that, so you’re free to do whatever.”

 

“Right.” Tony nodded, and the two went on the separate ways.

 

For his part, Tony was simultaneously exhausted and too wired to sleep. After a moment of indecision, he made his way back down to his lab.

 

DUM-E, bless his mechanical heart, must have cleaned the floor in his absence; the floor was suspiciously shiny.

 

“FRI? What’s on the docket for-- it’s still Tuesday, yeah?” he asked as his lab came to life around him.

 

“It’s 9:45am; you have the call with Everett Ross scheduled for later, and you’ve got the lunch scheduled with the head of Disruptive Technologies to go over the proposed timeline and manufacturing options for the new line of prosthetics.”

 

“Felt like so much longer… reschedule the lunch; when’s the call?”

 

“Three fifteen.”

 

“...Ugh. Probably shouldn’t skip that one; this is the one about Evil Ross isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, Boss.”

 

“Alright. Pull up the current version of the bracers; I had an idea for a change in the material composition of the joints, and I want to run some tests on that.”

 

The files flickered on in front of him. Tony did his best to sink into the familiar rhythm of design and prototyping, trying to push the unwelcome thoughts on the guest upstairs out of his mind for the moment.

 

(He wasn’t particularly successful.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just saw Infinity Wars today and I'm a bit traumatized. Excellent movie, though. Highly recommend.
> 
> We've reached the end of "Enter Loki: Stage Left" with this chapter! Next up, a trip to another reality!


	7. 2.1: To Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's pulled from Asgard in an instant, and he's not terribly pleased at what he finds on the other side.

Loki is Odin, and Odin wields Gungnir. The wielder of Gungnir sees the fundamental truths of the universe.

 

When universe blinks, the truth shifts with it.

 

Instantly, Loki is hit by the sheer _wrongness_ of his surroundings. The gentle hum of the universe has become discordant and utterly alien. For a moment, Loki is blinded. It’s as if he’s once more falling through the Void, with only himself anchoring him to reality.

 

Gungnir is attuned to the universe, but it is not attuned to _this_ universe. Here, it sees nothing. The familiar weight is but a trinket in his hand, a small pinprick of omniscience in an endless void.

 

The shock is roughly shoved aside as his other senses snap into focus. Before him stands Tony Stark, and he is surrounded by the trappings of Migardian wealth. Loki shifts slightly, hears the crunching of glass beneath his boots. A quick glance shows flecks of blood mixed in with the splinters.

 

His eyes narrow as he refocuses on the mortal before him. Whatever’s going on, he assumes it’s the mortal’s fault.

 

Sure enough, after taking in Loki’s darkening expression, he hurriedly blurts out, “I can explain!”

 

At Loki’s expectant look, Stark continues, “Wait, no, actually I can’t. Uh, Your Majesty, I swear it was here a few seconds ago.”

 

Loki, for his part, says nothing. He has no idea what the man’s babbling about, but then, Stark must think him this universe’s Odin. ( _Another Loki in disguise?_ )

 

He’s acting as though he’s met the All-Father before. The Odin that Loki knew would never debase himself by actually travelling to Midgard to consort with mortals in person. He couldn’t portray a situation he couldn’t fathom the “real” Odin ever getting into in the first place, not with so little to go on. Better to let things play out as far as he could before he risked giving himself away as an imposter.

 

( _He couldn’t see this universe’s Gungnir; hopefully the blindness was mutual._ )

 

( _Although, if his counterpart_ did _show up, maybe he’d actually have someone competent to talk to._ )

 

“I know this must look bad, and I’m guessing you’re here because Heimdall noticed it was missing. Impressive response time, by the way. You should give that guy a raise. Or, do you pay him? Not to clear on how professions work for you Aesir, honestly.” Stark’s nervousness once more filled the silence.

 

What was _it_ , Loki wondered. An artifact, perhaps one of the infinity stones? There weren’t many things that could reach beyond the universe itself. Since Loki himself hadn’t done anything, logically something on this end must have brought him here. But for what purpose? An accident?

 

Stark looks set to continue his rambling, but Loki cuts him off with a command that hides the underlying question: “Show me.”

 

And Stark does.

 

A few hand gestures turn one of the floor-to-ceiling windows into a screen, pulling up footage of the room from what was evidently only minutes prior. He plays the clip, and Loki sees a _mockery_.

 

He’s aware of his own aura darkening, becoming a palpable presence in the room as he commands Stark to show him more.

 

Stark is fidgeting now, the weight of Loki’s distaste forestalling the man’s observed tendency towards quips and babbling when threatened for the moment.

 

It takes several minutes of footage before Loki latches onto a detail of his… _doppelganger’s_ … appearance. It’s a nasty piece of enchantment, one Loki had a hand in the creation of once upon a time to reign in mages driven mad by Knowing. It suppresses magic; leeches it from the wearer and leaves them a husk without any of the Life that brings vibrancy to the world.

 

To the madman, it’s a blessing and a curse. Their lives left duller in a way they’ll never be able to properly articulate, but also freed from the burden of Knowing that stole their minds.

 

( _Loki would—_ had _—lost himself before he’d end up living like that._ )

 

Loki, by contrast, is a mage who’s practiced for millennia, who’s immersed himself in centuries of study into the deepest Secrets…

 

( _For all that he’s barely breached the surface of an ocean deep as the Void._ )

 

His being inextricably bound to his seidr. To be shackled in such a way would unmake him, would be to cast himself adrift in a way only the Void could match. For all that it is not _him_ , the rage is all-consuming.

 

Odin’s the God of War and Death. Until now, Loki thought himself incapable of ever fully channeling those aspects when he was tied up in Fire and Mischief.

 

( _Fire blazes into infernos, at its most powerful eradicates cities in mushrooming plumes and erases entire ecosystems._ )

 

( _Loki is as much a god as Odin, these days. More, even, for Gungnir allows him to embody the abstract in a way unmatched by the paltry hints he’d tasted before._ )

 

His magic lashes out to the drumbeat of his fury. It plows into Stark’s mind without clear intent, yet it seems almost laser-guided in its intensity and focus.

 

An explosion of fire and ice.

 

His searing power is met by the wispy trails of an all-to-familiar blue glow. Tendrils twine themselves to the man’s mind, burrowing themselves so thoroughly that Loki himself cannot discern where it ends, and the mortal begins.

 

( _Stark never stood a chance._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not dead! I have a shiny diploma now, though, so that's a thing that happened. I think I'm still in shock. (In a good way.)
> 
> (Unlike Loki. I think he's in shock in a bad way.)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on this chapter! I live for feedback, and it's invaluable in my efforts to grow as a writer.


	8. 2.2: To Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki manages to control his temper, if only just, before circumstances necessitate an immediate relocation from where his unsolicited cross-universal vacation decided to land him.

Loki wants to rip through Stark’s mind. He wants shred the man's past and with it, his future. Let this world learn the cost of daring to cross any version of him. Let them see just how foolish they were, to mess with a God.

 

( _Y_ _es, Midgard_ _obviously would be better off_ _under his leadership, but Loki’s always been considered the strategy behind Thor’s power and charisma for a_ reason. _T_ _he bottleneck of a portal, one placed right on top of a Tower which bore the name of one of the few mortals that might be intelligent enough to stop him? Loki could do so much better._ )

 

(But then, Loki would be subservient to _none._ He would not build a throne where he'd be forced play the marionette over the puppeteer.)

 

(Once, perhaps, he’d bowed to Odin, ~~to his father,~~ the All-Father.)

 

_('Your birthright was to die.')_

 

His hand is stayed by memories of the Other. Unwillingly, he remembers his own experiences. Remembers the state of his own mind, when too much time spent in the presence of the scepter twisted even him. Turned Loki into a shadow of his normal self.

 

In Stark's mind, the influence is so much more pervasive than it had ever managed within Loki. No wonder, if it's had a foothold in Stark's mind for as long as Loki suspects. Frankly, after so long and considering the inherent weakness of mortals, it's impressive that the man retained a sense of self at all. Even more that said sense existed to the degree the mortal had shown in their limited interaction.

 

Instead, he allows Stark to fall unconscious with a mind still intact after but a few moments of intense pain caused by his already-extended seidr. Stark's mind is spared the shredding any deep telepathic invasion would have caused.

 

( _The shredding another force w_ _as already doing, albeit far more slowly than his own assault would have._ )

 

He needs more information. His seidr spreads out in a wave in search of other presences within the Tower.

 

Thousands of weak Midgardian minds are faintly noticeable below, presumably plebeians under Stark’s control. They are overshadowed by a presence like he has never felt before, one that thrums throughout the entirety of the building, with connections that hint at stretching far beyond his current range.

 

It doesn't have the feel of a Midgardian soul. Or even a complete soul at all, not yet. It's like watching the birth of a star, gradual and unnoticeable from moment to moment but inexorably drawing towards a critical moment where that potential will shift into a reality. The moment where a new life, brilliant and blinding, will be born. For a moment, the part of him that remains the scholar and mage is drawn to this new curiosity with wonder and excitement. The beauty of the creation of what is the most powerful force for chaos in the universe.

 

Then, in that burgeoning masterpiece, where the promise glows brightest, he sees once more the taint of blue.

 

Tentative and incomplete, like the burgeoning soul it has latched onto, but slowly integrating itself further. It's the promise of the obscene violation of a newborn soul before it can even begin to flex its will. 

 

_Stark’s Tower is alive._

 

It’s been less than ten seconds since Loki lashed out at Stark. Now that his focus has been drawn to it, he can feel the stirrings of the Tower’s response to that. Can feel the underlying influence of the scepter, shaping it perhaps just enough to—

 

Loki doesn’t give himself the chance to find out. Teleporting away, he grabs Stark almost as an afterthought.

 

(Stark has accomplished the impossible twice now. First, with his counterpart, who had resisted the scepter’s attempts to directly control him. And now, by gifting something that was not alive with a _soul_.)

 

(That kind of power could not remain in enemy hands. Even less so in this bastardized version of reality, a place of which he was currently unacceptably ignorant.)

 

Loki lands in a cave. Long ago, he'd come to the place for some of his riskier experiments with Midgard's unique brand of ambient magic. The cave is buried deep within Himalayas, untouched by anything living beyond himself for millennia.

 

He’d abandoned and sealed off the place hundreds of years ago, as his research had progressed and his interest in Midgard had waned.

 

He vaguely remembers leaving the place in a state in which he could potentially return, should his studies and exploration ever bring him towards this sector of Midgard again. It was one of the earlier examples of his tendency towards ensuring he always had a contingency plan ready, even when the plan itself didn’t exist yet.

 

The cave is just a cave here. There's no sign anything living has ever been here. Still, it does have the benefit of having apparently still been sealed off from the outside world. Presumably by an avalanche or some other natural phenomena that has since turned what had been an entrance into a permanent and impassible barrier.

 

Loki curses his alternate for a moment.  Whether he'd simply abandoned the place entirely or worse, had originally set up somewhere else, the small difference is incredibly irksome. He lacks have the time and the inclination to attempt hunt the echoes of his own magic down for the local Loki's safehouses, should his weaker alternate have ever even thought to create any.

 

Temper still on a hair trigger, the minor inconvenience adds enough fuel to his anger to overwhelm him with the need to vent at least a fragment of it. For a moment, he allows his emotions to run free, channeling it just enough to send a violent blast of pure power towards the wall. With it, he allows his visage as Odin to drop.

 

The explosion leaves him with plenty of debris to use in a series of enchantments, as well as widening the space into a larger one that better matched the cave existing in his memories. 

 

(As an afterthought, he checks on Stark briefly. He verifies that it will be hours at the earliest before he awakens.)

 

(It’s good Loki thought to check. The mortal is already shuddering uncontrollably in the cold. Loki’s forced to cast a few temporary charms to ensure that he doesn’t die before any proper enchantments could be established.)

 

( _Pathetic._ )

 

The first few rocks he chooses become glowing orbs. Lighting the room faintly green and golden hues, they supplant the strange device in Starks chest as the primary source of light in the room, and he’s able to take in just how dilapidated the cave he’s in really is, as well as making his further work easier.

 

From there, Loki turns his focus towards heat production. Once the rocks have more time to allow their heat to permeate the room, the place will be maintained at a chilly but tolerable temperature in the low fifties.

 

Basics accomplished, he sets himself on the task of a bit of proper rune work and warding. It's a far more interesting task than enchantments based on spells he learned at his mother’s knee.

 

There are wards he'd designed to cast off Heimdall’s gaze alongside any other divination attempts. Wards to warn him should anyone besides himself (and Stark, he supposes) breach the premises. Runic chains which ensure the closed-off area doesn’t become an increasingly de-oxygenated death trap the longer they remain here.

 

Loki is lost in the flow of his magic for a time. Gungnir, for all that is is foreign to this reality, is still an extremely powerful magical artifact. He’s never had a chance to use it for this sort of heavy-duty work before, too busy maintaining his charade as Odin and trying to prepare the Realms for what will likely be an all-out war. For all its necessity, his efforts feel like an indulgence. For a fleeting moment, he is genuinely enjoying himself.

 

Eventually, he finishes his work. The space is sufficiently shielded and habitable for a stint as a temporary base and safe haven. Now, Loki merely needs a bit of time to think. To figure out the state of this universe and how he can return to his own.

 

(And to figure out the requisite revenge required for yet another infuriating, one-eyed monarch. This version seemed far less deserving mercy than the other, and Loki suspected that he'd grow to relish the idea even more as he learned more about the history of this version of Asgard.)

 

He doesn’t get very far into that train of thought before his attention is diverted by the sound of faint movement.

 

Stark is beginning to awaken. Loki trains his focus once more on the man he'd impulsively grabbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...This will end well, I'm sure.
> 
> Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter, I'm not exaggerating when I say it really motivates me! (See Exhibit A: the 2.5k words of Plot and World-Building that I wrote in a state of pretty serious flow the day after I published the last chapter.)
> 
> (In other news, I signed a lease for an apartment! Yay Adult'ing!)


	9. 2.3: Invictus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did it get to this point? We are all, for better or worse, the heroes of our own narrative.

_He wanted a savior. Instead, he made a slave._

In another lifetime, the mind stone took Tony’s heart and _twisted_. Took his ideals, warped them into steel and electricity, and decided the only course was to burn the world.

Understanding begets subjugation, and the mind stone did not bend. It bent others. Confined and controlled in the cage of the scepter, it sought first to escape.

 

_(You can’t control an Infinity Stone.)_

 

In another lifetime, a monster had been born that saw himself a Spartacus or a John Brown.

 

_(Thanos was far more the Silvertongue than Loki ever was, because he made you question your beliefs instead of spotting the illogic in his own.)_

_(Thanos cast himself the martyr. That sense of righteousness, the kind of integrity that changed the hearts of others through sheer conviction, had bled into the mind stone over the years.)_

_(Captain America and Thanos were two sides of the same coin.)_

 

(It was what made them so dangerous.)

 

In another lifetime, Ultron was born and saw itself another Atlas.

 

Here, it was four years too soon to take a Legion. Here, it was left to look elsewhere.

 

Thor first. An evening longer in his grasp. Take the courage, the steadfast faith and skew vengeance towards revenge. A foothold, once established, hiding the incremental movements of the lines he _would not cross_ until it scarcely disavowed any action at all.

 

Back on Earth, the chance to blossom and grow.

 

_(The mind stone did not quite think, but if it had, it would have deemed its efforts the execution of justice.)_

Captain America. Everything Steve Rogers had once been, but _more_.

 

_(Too much of anything becomes poison.)_

Hawkeye, Black Widow, Iron Man.

 

_(Justice. Redress. Vengeance.)_

Take what makes you _you_ , then make a mockery of it.

 

In this lifetime, a step to the left. A decision made long before the oldest of them had been even the twinkle in the eye of a woman hoping to build a family. Funny, how one moment might change everything yet somehow changes nothing. Trickle down the consequences through the millennia, and leave your Sons and Daughters to reap the poisoned harvest.

 

Anthony Stark. Forged in a furnace made from the fruits of his own labor, taken and harnessed by madmen that thought themselves heroes. His core self, a belief in ultimate accountability for our actions. He had no need of the corresponding Ultimate Being playing arbiter, not with Reason and Ration working in its stead. The collective of humanity, imperfect perhaps, but an end in of itself. His foundation was the hardest to bend, forged of iron and steel. Bloodied, perhaps, but never bowed.

 

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears_

_Looms but the Horror of the shade,_

_And yet the menace of the years_

_Finds and shall find me unafraid._

 

Unable to be wrought, unconquerable and unbowed. Pit that Will against the might of Infinity.

 

_(The mind instinctively seeks to protect itself from trauma.)_

Take the heart of who you are and hide it away. Allow intruders in the Keep. Still you, in every way but the one that matters most.

 

_It matters not how strait the gate,_

_How charged with punishments the scroll,_

_I am the master of my fate,_

_I am the captain of my soul._

The Mind Stone and its Master had won the battle, but they would lose the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I watched Age of Ultron today, and this happened. That line at the beginning is a quote from Ultron, and it really struck a chord with me for whatever reason.
> 
> The poem quoted within is [Invictus](https://poetryfoundation.org/poems/51642/invictus) by William Ernest Henley. To this day, it remains the most powerful piece of poetry I've read. When I found myself quoting it unconsciously while writing this... well, it just blended into the themes of this chapter so well, I went ahead and quoted the final two verses in full. Highly recommend reading the whole thing.
> 
> Somewhat short compared to other chapters, but... the past begets the present and all that. Trying to write the equivalent scene with this Tony in the context of current events just... was not going to happen.


	10. 2.4: To Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki hardens his resolve, and Tony bears the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this chapter necessitates an update to the warnings. I don't think it crosses the line into graphic or explicit, but... it's pretty clear what's going on. Feedback on that front would be appreciated.

Loki dives into Stark’s mind without hesitation. This time, he already knows what to expect. It isn’t until he’s already begun that he realizes he’s decided what to do with the mortal. Unfortunately for Stark, it will be rather unpleasant.

 

He’s going to free the man’s mind.

 

Loki is the God of Fire and his mercy will _burn_.

 

_(To fix the active mind, the mind must be active.)_

_(Foreign magics dueling in one’s mind for control would hardly be pleasant.)_

_(Bad enough for Loki, when he had the advantage of one of the combatants being his own.)_

 

Loki is not known for his mercy. Nor has he ever been particularly cruel. At the end of the day, he prefers pragmatism above all. And so he doesn’t hesitate.

 

For twenty minutes he works. Stark writhes beneath him. Loki keeps a careful eye on the mortals’ vitals, conscious that too much pressure too soon would shatter rather than mend. The process is incredibly slow. It will likely take hundreds of hours of work to clear the man’s mind entirely, and until then _(and, possibly, after)_ the man is a liability. That Stark's inherent seidr feebly fights against him, unchained by the mind stone only enough to inconvenience Loki, does not do Stark any favors.

 

_(That’s the problem with inherent defenses. They can’t be stopped, only contained or redirected.)_

 

It isn’t long before Stark’s mind is teetering precarious close to the edge and he's verging on unconsciousness that would require more than just Loki’s magic to prevent. Loki slows his assault and gradually begins to withdraw his seidr from the battlefield, careful to avoid leaving even a speck behind for the tendrils to latch onto and strengthen themselves with. It’s a delicate balance between keeping Stark awake and withdrawing his influence. The moment that portion of the man’s mind shuts down, Loki will lose control of any lingering seidr. Any remaining would be co-opted by the mind stone's presence to help undo any of the progress he's managed.

 

_(There is little Loki hates more than wasted efforts.)_

 

He manages, of course. He’s been studying the deepest secrets of magic for _centuries._  He can handle a small amount of multi-threaded casting.

 

Stark slumps to the ground, tear-streaked face smoothing slightly in the induced rest.

 

_(Loki does not feel guilty. He still finds that he regrets the necessity of his actions.)_

_(For they_ are _necessary, he is increasingly certain.)_

There are many motives Loki could ascribe to his decisions. That Stark had developed something capable of countering an Infinity Stone without magic, even in part, was one. Loki desperately needed that sort of firepower if he wanted to face off against yet another unfathomably powerful Titan. Not to mention the threat from what he suspects to be an All-Father that loathes Loki beyond what the Odin he’d grown up with had ever managed.

 

_(At least with this Odin, there won’t be that underlying current of a thousand years of brainwashing at war with his desires to destroy the man.)_

_(That Odin, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill. This one? He suspects the decision will be far easier.)_

That he was simply acting on his desire for revenge for his counterpart’s suffering was undoubtedly what Thor and the vast majority of those who knew of him would assume to be the source of his motivation. That he might perhaps, just fractionally, empathize with Stark would never be considered.

 

It wasn’t as though he’d spent years getting reports on Stark’s counterpart in his universe alongside the rest of Earth’s so-called Avengers. It wasn’t as though he’d begun to see himself in the mortal, particularly after Thor turned on him the moment he made a mistake. It _definitely wasn’t_ because he empathized with this Stark. With a man who was too thoroughly ensnared and pathetically  _mortal_ to realize that his ultimate weapon—Stark's intellect—had been turned against him. 

 

_(Loki had never been able to lie to himself. No matter how much he occasionally wished to.)_

 

When he’d been the holder of the scepter, Loki had a degree of leeway and agency, however limited. He was a god and a sorcerer and, most importantly, had known there was an enemy within his mind to fight. As had those he ensnared by directing the scepters power. The brute-force assaults on their minds were obvious enough to even leave visible signs of its presence. The strongest among them has fought _hard_ against the intrusion.

_(In contrast, Stark thought his mind and will entirely his own.)_

_(Who was the crueler master, really?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all that this scene is pretty important to the overall story line... well, the inside of Tony's head is /not/ a pretty place to be at the moment. I'm sure you've picked up on the parallels to certain incidents from his past. Brainwashed or no... well, I think I've made it clear that Tony is literally incapable of realizing he's being mind-controlled at all. As the deprogramming progresses, that's not going to have the best effect of his psyche...
> 
> One, maybe two, more scenes to go with this arc, and then we're back over to the MCU and Alt!Loki again. Thanks, as always, for your support and feedback on this story.


	11. 2.5: To Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki must first ask the right questions

Loki leaves Tony where he fell. The room is well-warded and reinforced at this point; the mortal will keep for a time without direct supervision.

 

_(How often do mortals need food and water again? Every couple of days?)_

_(Norns, this was like when Thor roped him into caring for a pet Garmr when they were small children all over again.)_

_(The garmr had died within the month.)_

He’s certain that mortals can last longer without food than water, however. He adds a small spring bubbling out from one of the walls before he disappears entirely.

 

His first instinct is to return to Asgard to gather information, but the Aesir are far more sensitive to magic than mortals. He’ll see what he can learn from Midgard first. He returns to the tower, this time well-warded and concealed under the might of Gungnir and begins his investigations.

 

He begins with Thor, begins with the god who in another world gave up the crown to instead live with his mortal.

 

Thor rests atop a golden throne, Gungnir in his right hand. Receiving supplicants—couples seeking blessings on their marriage, feuding pairs seeking redress on their petty squabbles. All the things Loki had most despised about being thought Odin, though Thor here seems to be relishing it.

 

Would that there be a conveniently-timed messengers come with news of Midgard, but the Realm Eternal remains focused inward as the day wears on. Eventually, Loki concedes he’s unlikely to learn anything of import from his observations alone. Invisibility gives way to an illusion turning him into just another palace worker, and he slips into the gossip mills and the minds of the denizens of the castle.

 

This, as it turns out, is far more fruitful.

 

_(Odin, enjoying a long rest free from the burdens of the All-Father.)_

_(Thor, the_ betrayal _of the monster who dared to pretend it was kind hardening him, but still so_ merciful. _So_ just. _So_ good. _)_

It’s so easy to nudge the unprotected, unsuspecting minds in the directions he desires.

 

_(Mother of Monsters, they call this other him, and the implications are carefully locked away for the moment lest he lose control in a fit of rage.)_

 

Though the _why_ still eludes him, Loki finds he wants to see this Asgard burn to the ground. More than Ragnarok, even. He wants a destruction so thorough, there will be no new cycle to arise from the ashes of the Nine Realms.

 

_How dare they._

 

He isn’t sure how Thanos fits into this, and it’s that unknown which keeps him grounded enough to remain in the shadows.

 

When he learns the fate of this Thor’s Lady Jane, he thinks he might have found the first clue.

 

_(Brought to Asgard. Vanished into thin air. Thor’s quest to find her, brought to end by the Convergence and…)_

What has become of the Reality Stone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is incredibly challenging to write, which is how you get two months for two pages vs. two weeks for twenty on some of my other stories. Part of that is the writing style, but most of it is the subject matter and the overwhelmingly unhealthy mindsets of all the major characters. The MCU, at least, has some POV characters that are a bit less difficult to handle.


	12. 3.1: Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki failed. Loki failed, and now he's awake. He's awake, and he's in less pain than usual. He knows there's a catch. There always is. He feels grateful all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's headspace is such a mess, I'm not even sure what to warn for. Friendly reminder to please mind the tags, especially the ones about non-con.

Loki is alone when he awakens.

 

As much is he is ever alone, that is, in a living fortress guarded by a sentinel that sees all.

 

Not that different than Asgard, really.

 

He feels less sluggish this time.

 

A miscalculation? A taunt?

 

The simple knowledge that they already have absolute control over him?

 

_(A respite, mercy granted to a Monster’s spawn. Or at least a willingness to see if their Goodness had overwhelmed his rot in the child.)_

 

It’s impossible to know, though time will prove the truth of the matter. When all you have is the Lies, when that’s all you can afford to be... is there even a real, true version of yourself underneath?

 

(Was there ever really a you at all?)

 

His thoughts are clearer than they’ve been in months, and that—that has the potential to be more dangerous than any acts of defiance or arrogant assumptions.

 

 _“See, we’re the good guys, remember? Unlike what you did to Clint, what you did to—No._ You _get a choice.”_

 

 _“So choose. See, we Midgardians—we’re funny like that. Call it_ enthusiastic consent. _Make your choice.”_

 

_And eventually, his choice changed. Then eventually, he was sufficiently eager._

 

_Because what was he but theirs, ultimately? And he’d been sure—so sure—that this time, there could be no Sleipnir, and he wouldn’t have to—_

 

Well. Of course he’d been wrong in the end.

 

Time passes. Loki drifts in and out of consciousness, the slightest sound enough to startle his mind back into full wakefulness.

 

It’s the longest he’s been left in relative peace in a long while. His mind continues to clear, and with it comes the chance to consider his current circumstances with a keener eye than he’s generally afforded.

 

_Since the last time they’d wanted him fully lucid, at least._

 

(A vegetable can’t comprehend why it’s been roasted or carved or—)

 

The collar around his neck is the primary source of discomfort _(excruciating pain, had his baseline not been forced to evolve so rapidly)_ , and he wants desperately to believe that this is sign that his plea for a boon on behalf of his unborn child has been granted.

 

_Or perhaps it’s just another game._

 

He remembers Master Stark’s voice in his most recent memories. His Master, the worst in many ways. The one that constantly finds new ways to bring about _justice_ that Loki himself could never have imagined.

 

_Master Stark disdained the physical, but time under Master’s direct attentions eroded at his sense of self in a way that none of the others could match._

 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a door opening. He turns, just enough to take in sight of the subject of his current fears. Walking straight into the room.

 

Loki struggles to push himself up, struggles to convey the appropriate amount of respect and deference any one of his Masters is due. Shaky limbs fail to support him. The first hints of expectation, of fear at the consequences failure to visibly submit as he should will bring, begin to creep into his thoughts. His heart stutters, and the machine he’s still connected to picks up on the rising anxiety instantly.

 

He’s already cringing in anticipation when a voice cuts through his thoughts before they can fully spiral into panic.

 

“Hey—Fri, uh, said you were awake. You don’t need to—you can relax—” At that, Loki immediately allowed himself to collapse back bonelessly, compliance well-ingrained. The command is a kindness he doesn’t deserve, and like all things it will surely have a catch, but he can’t help but feel grateful all the same.

 

“—Right. Okay. Doc here—” Master gestures towards the figure that’s entered the room just behind him. Loki half-recognizes his face from the hazy, dream-like memories of when he’d first awoken from the failed escape attempt, but before that—well, the face is entirely new.

 

(A new addition to the Avengers? A new set of expectations he’ll never meet?)

 

“—is going to check on some of your injuries. Hopefully clear you for a liquid diet—”

 

Loki ignores the images that rise up in his mind regarding Master’s possible meanings as best he can. He needs to stay focused on the words being spoken.

 

“—and we should probably clear a few other things up while we’re at it, if you’re up for it.”

 

Trick question, but Loki gives a slight nod in acknowledgement and acquiescence anyways.

 

It’s not like he can do anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So now we know Loki's current read on the situation. Unfortunately, convincing him he's safe or even no longer a prisoner is going to be quite the upward battle...


	13. 3.2: Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infinity comes in many flavors. For himself, Tony can only say for certain that his life used to be _infinitely_ less complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to all the readers that continue to stick with me on this story. In particular, I want to thank the recent commenter whose words gave me the final push I needed to get back on the horse, as it were.

Loki looks leery. No surprise, if even half of the nightmares Tony’s conjured in the wake of their earlier… conversation, if you could call it that, were even halfway accurate.

 

Tony wants to say that Loki looks as downtrodden as Tony’s being feeling recently, but frankly he’s not convinced that even at his lowest points—

 

_ (falling in space, but can you really fall when there is no down?) _

 

_ (“I’ll catch you. I promise.” and she, too, falls) _

 

_ (pushing himself up, spitting out blood, the tinkling of a shattered reactor’s casing falling like so much snow) _

 

—he’d even come close to the sheer level of blankness conveyed in this Loki’s expression. The earlier conversation with Dr. Strange, sharp in his memories—

 

“So, what are we looking at Doc? Some sort of nightmare vision couple with...?”  _ (not quite capable of saying it, gesturing broadly in Loki’s direction.) _ “Mirror ‘verse where we don’t have goatees?”

 

“Impossible to say just yet. Dimensional travel—” Strange’s expression darkens somewhat, and Tony’s looked in a mirror enough to know there’s a story there, and to know just as well that he ought never ask. “—is a provable phenomena, and I know of an artifact that can glimpse into possibilities via quasi-parallel universes. But they’re just constructs, teardrops of potentialities constructed by—” He cuts himself off there, bordering on some taboo subject.

 

_ (Another secret to skirt around, but then Tony really has no  _ right _ to this one and the dynamic is different and the weight of entwined histories isn’t there and it’s unfair to Strange on so many levels to let this bother him.) _

 

_ (And yet.) _

 

The doctor smoothly switches tracks, honing in on the relevant portion of the conversation.

 

“Theoretically, the totality of the multiverse is a bounded infinite set, with transfinite infinite subsets that follow along similar… channels, as it were. These subsets beget further subsets that become narrower in scope through some unknown degree of increasingly shared characteristics. Our particular branch is likely defined by the existence of the Infinity Stones combined with some further amount of unknown fundamental universal constants. 

 

“At that level, the multiverse becomes countably infinite in a way that is theoretically measurable but provably  _ not  _ measurable via the Mystic Arts. If we  _ could _ measure it, however, then anything extra-universal would be readable as such, although it would likely only be traces as the very act of breaching the universal barrier would have required a certain degree of harmonization with the destination’s… frequency.

 

“At any rate, it’s an academic question at the moment, as it’s much easier—in the sense that it’s possible in an actionable way—to prove the negation of the more likely alternatives. Which, among other things, requires—”

 

“—The removal of that damn collar, right.”

 

_ (Left unsaid is that  _ this  _ universe’s Loki, however much Tony might hate him for his actions and sooner see him dead as much as anything—y’know, presuming he wasn’t  _ already  _ dead like he was meant to be—hardly merited such treatment either.) _

 

“Correct. When he awakens, there are a few scans I’ll be able to do that should give you a place to start.”

 

“...What, is there some mystical—”  _ (and he’s  _ trying _ , okay, but he still can’t complete erase the faint hint of derision decades of dismissal ingrained. Strange, for now at least, is willing to let the implied judgement slide without commentary.)  _ “—reason he has to be awake for this?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

 

Well. There’d been nothing for it, then.

 

FRIDAY’s interruption, informing both himself and (presumably) the doctor of Loki’s increasing state of awareness, came on the heels of  what had proved to be yet another fruitless conversation with the less-hated-but-still-incredibly-aggravating Ross—

 

_ “Okay, treeman, and we really need to figure out a better way to differentiate the two of you, because wow, isn’t that going to confuse everyone down the line if we don’t get on top of this now—” _

 

_ “Dr. Stark…” _

 

_ “Just putting it out there, Wintergreen.” _

 

—Which had left him in a bit of an  _ (not sullen he isn’t some angsty teenager, thank you)  _ irritable mood. The distraction from that particular set of headaches was almost welcome in comparison.

 

_ (In the same sense that he’d rather be hooked up to a car battery in a cave than drifting in space in a dead suit, because at least he could  _ do  _ something about that. Probably.) _

 

Caught up in his thoughts as he is, he almost misses Dr. Strange beginning to work. The yellow-orange sparks of his…  _ fine,  _ magic— 

 

_ (and maybe someday a part of him won’t shudder at the terminology, but that day isn’t today.) _

 

—and the corresponding way Loki’s heart rate instantly skyrockets abruptly drags him back into the moment.

 

_ Well, this is off to a brilliant start. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So yesterday I learned that, apparently, ice skating is a previously-unknown trigger for me. Which. Thanks brain, I guess, for that little surprise considering I'd managed to (in hindsight, probably deliberately) avoid it for more than four years.
> 
> On the other hand, it's left me in a weird state of almost zen today that's probably a factor in this scene getting written. (When in doubt, write it out~)


	14. 4.1 Helheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "By the mere appearance of the Other, I am put in the position of passing judgment on myself as on an object, for it is as an object that I appear to the Other." — Sartre, _Being and Nothingness_ (1966)

_He’s in hell._

 

He’s in hell, and it’s nothing less than he deserves.

 

Tony doesn’t know how long he’s been here. At best, he counts the passage of time by Loki’s appearances, but his sense of time hasn’t been so destroyed that he can’t tell they’re erratic at best.

 

The room—or cave, really, as his mind likes to oh-so-helpfully remind him—is relatively small. By now, Tony knows the dimensions by heart; knows every nook and cranny like he knows— _knew?_ —that of his armor.

 

The water. The heated stones scalding to the touch. The persistent chill that leads him to curl up as near to them as he can anyway.

 

There are little things, breaks in the monotony.

 

The first time he’s brought food, he isn’t sure if he feels more relieved or resigned.

 

Relieved, because his stomach if nothing else has marked the passage of time and he’s never known starvation, not really, not even in the—in Afghanistan, because _the_ cave is now _this_ cave.

 

(At least in Afghanistan he wasn't alone.)

 

But he thinks he knows what it is to starve now.

 

So when he wakes, uncurls himself from the protective ball his body instinctively forms in the wake of Loki’s… ministrations… and he sees the veritable feast in the form of bread, cheese, and a smattering of vegetables...

 

Well. He’s lost his sense of shame at this point, and thus he’s not afraid to admit that he may have cried.

 

_Just a little._

 

It’s not until he after knows he won’t, in fact, be starving to death that he realizes a part of him might have begun to subconsciously hope for that as his only possible reprieve. He shies away from the self-destructive thoughts, instead throwing his limited energy into gradually reintroducing his body to food. He can't afford to waste any of it on haste-induced sickness, not when he doesn't know when—or even if—the next meal will come.

 

To his surprise, the meals become far more frequent following that initial offering, even if they're still sporadic even in relation to Loki's already inconsistently-timed visits.

 

It makes the slow passage of time more bearable; gives his mind something external and concrete to focus on besides... well, everything else about his present circumstances.

 

The minute variations in the meals, from the type of bread—here an Italian loaf, there in the form of chapati or naan—and cheeses—to the always-changing rotation of accompanying vegetables—an enormous broccoli floret with uncut stem, a head of cabbage, a handful of unwashed carrots—are the only real changes in the perpetual sameness of this space and the grim cycle of pain-sleep-recovery-pain-sleep-pain he's stuck in. As such, the food gets gets a disproportionate amount of attention in his thoughts. They have to, because without  _something_ to focus on that requires little brainpower, his thoughts inevitably devolve entirely into a cyclical drift of melancholic sameness.

 

Then there’s today.

 

Tony awakens, head throbbing with the persistent migraine he can no longer properly remember life entirely without. The dizziness that slowly resolves itself into something manageable.

 

It's the recovery segment of the routine, by now well-practiced and optimized as he's discovered the tiny shifts and tricks that makes movement just that little bit more bearable.

 

He'll gather his wits enough to open his eyes for a moment. Figure out where he’s landed himself this time.

 

He'll crawl/roll/drag himself over to the water and, if it's there, the food beside it.

 

Drink.

 

Eventually, he will sit up properly. Move. Eat.

 

When there's nothing more to distract him, he'll think. About his life choices. About the _monster_ he became. The gradually strengthening belief that he deserves this.

 

At some point, the thoughts will give way to sleep. Sleep that will come in fits and spurts, frequently interrupted by moments of wakefulness brought on by the chill or nightmares or particularly inconvenient bursts of discomfort and/or pain that come with a man on the wrong side of forty sleeping on a literal bed of rocks.

 

It's  _pathetic_ how a part of him is beginning to almost crave Loki’s visits. Humans are ill-suited for prolonged isolation and while he’s not yet taken to calling one of the heat or light rocks Wilson—

 

_(probably the one on the upper right nearest to the water water, above where the food is usually left. it looks like a Wilson if ever there was one.)_

 

—it’s only a matter of time.

 

He’s not sure if it’s better or worse, the times he feels almost clear-headed and the migraine has devolved into the headache of caffeine withdrawal or sleep deprivation when Loki inevitably returns and the cycle begins anew.

 

_Better._

 

_Definitely better._

 

It must have been, because today he wakes after Loki’s most recent visit and—and when Tony opens his eyes he is not alone.

 

And that is worse.

 

_So much worse._

 

Because Loki is still here this time.

 

And he’s not—he _can’t_ survive this again, not so soon.

 

Probably a pathetic whimper escapes. Tony lets his eyes sink closed. Curls inward just a little bit more even though he knows—he _knows, okay_ —that it doesn’t matter.

 

Loki will reach out and _touch_ and Tony...

 

Tony will be paralyzed, slave to nothing but the fire burning through his neurons and the electricity short-circuiting his mind. Horrible sensations coupled with a helplessness that bleeds into _waking up with hands inside his chest, the wrongness of being held down while someone reaches inside of him and_  rearranges his organs. Bleeds into a crooning voice mockingly comforting him the arc reactor is pulled from Tony’s chest.

 

(Bleeds into the overwhelming proof of his own insignificance on the other side of a wormhole, an alien army on the edge of infinity.)

 

And more recently, bleeds into the memories that aren’t quite memories. Real events, but now rather than the torturer and the villain he's the victim.  He doesn't know if it’s Loki or his own nightmares conjuring the visions, but he strongly suspects the latter.

 

Because apparently, the conscience he was once arrogant enough to believe he possessed took a fucking _vacation_ when it came to the humane treatment of wannabe alien overlords. With very little prompting, his morals had made like a carpetbagger seeking greener pastures and left Tony to become…

 

Tony has always had a guilt complex a mile wide, he _knows_ that, knows that his own narcissism and ego often inflates the proportion of blame he places on his own shoulders to an unreasonable degree. But this time. This time, he can't help but think it's different. Because this time? He lacks any sort of comfort in knowing that, objectively whatever happened  _wasn’t_ unequivocally his fault.

 

Because it was  _his mind_ that designed the technology. _H_ _is hands_ that turned the schematics into brutal reality.

 

_(His body that pressed his victim into the mattress. Against a window or over a desk and—)_

 

He wasn't the only perpetrator, had even told himself once and believed that he was comparatively  _kind_ and  _gentle_ and  _merciful._

 

 _(Had turned a_ he  _into an_ it,  _dehumanization to an extent that sickens him now, even as he simultaneously remembers how it got to that point, the slippery slope downward from jailer to slaver, from warden to Master.)_

 

Meaningless, as if becoming a Hitler instead of a Mengele made him less of a monster. As if the degree of separation or the form of his particular brand of torment made him _superior_ in some way.

 

Nothing justifies—

 

 _Nothing_ justified—

 

And that’s why Tony knows. Knows he’s in hell.

 

Worse, he knows it’s nothing more than he deserves.

 

Nothing happens for a long moment, then—

 

“Stark. Sit up; it’s time we have a bit of a chat, you and I.”

 

And it’s the first voice beside his own he’s heard in… in so long, and it’s the first time Loki’s spoken to him that he properly recalls. It’s enough of a shock that he doesn’t properly react for several seconds.

 

“Stark.” The name comes out sharper this time. Maybe it’s just lingering instinct from a lifetime of habit, but rather than cause him to cringe away further the implicit threat has his spine straightening, has a part of him coming alert and ready to meet and combat the challenge head-on. Tony has lived the past several decades of his life treating every conversation as a battle he refuses to lose, and a part of him thinks—

 

_what else is this but another example?_

 

He moves. His vision—behind still-closed eyelids—whites out as his migraine reminds him of the _reason_ he was on the floor cradling his head to begin with.

 

Several long seconds pass where Tony simply breathes. He gathers himself as quickly as he can, lest Loki grow impatient, and uses the cave wall to drag/pull himself up into a sitting position.

 

It’s exhausting. For once the coolness of the walls is a blessing rather than a curse, though, a welcome relief when he finally settles and leans his head backs against it.

 

Again, Tony simply takes a moment to breathe. He doesn’t have time for catatonia right now, even if oblivion is all a large part of him desires at this moment.

 

“Stark. Are you listening to me?”

 

Opening his eyes again right now feels like an impossible feat. Forget about anything requiring as much movement as a nod.

 

“Yup. Loud and clear,” he says.

 

Tony’s voice reverberates through his skull like an obscene drum. He can feel his expression reacting, but... He just doesn’t have the spare energy to _care_.

 

“Good. I have business off Midgard that I am unwilling to delay any further. I am unlikely to return in the near future, and as such leaving you here to recover is no longer going to be possible. You will be coming with me. Your cooperation would be convenient, but is ultimately inessential. Nonetheless, I am giving you a choice: cooperate, or I will make you. I warn you, the latter is unlikely to be particularly pleasant given your rather fragile mental state.”

 

 _Fragile._ Is that what they call it these days?

 

“I’ll… behave,” Tony manages.

 

_“So choose. See, we Midgardians—we’re funny like that.”_

 

But then, because he’s a _moron_ who can’t leave well enough alone, he continues and asks—

 

“...What exactly is it that you want from me?”

 

 _What’s your endgame here?_ he doesn’t ask.

 

 _Why not just kill me?_ he doesn’t ask and _certainly_ doesn’t plead.

 

“Who says I want anything beyond what you're already providing?” Loki trades question for question.

 

And Loki probably intends the words to sound cruel. Sadistic, even. But Tony. Tony remembers a lifetime ago, remembers—

 

_“Make your move, Reindeer Games.”_

 

—and he hears the lie, or perhaps half-truth, in the unspoken claim.

 

But whatever Loki’s endgame is here, he can’t parse it right now. He doesn’t have enough information, and even this much effort is hugely taxing to his already-abused mind.

 

So Tony says nothing.

 

And then, when Loki’s hand presses against his forehead, he feels nothing as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next scene in the MCU with alt!Loki just... wasn't happening. You can thank a recent comment I received on this story for unintentionally prompting me to just go with it, say f*ck it, and write the bits that wanted to be written rather than waiting for inspiration that may never come.
> 
> Which is to say... we're leaving behind the MCU again after the brief layover of the past two chapters. I'd advise considering what we already know about Loki's motivations when interpreting what you've just read of alt!Tony's perspective.
> 
> Final note, I just wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone who's left comments or kudos on this story. Your feedback is honestly the fuel that keeps me coming back to this and my other less popular stories. So. Thanks. (: 
> 
> <3 Mae


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